Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Beech seedling in moss.

Last Wednesday my son began to regard his hands.

I saw him looking at his hand. His hand wavered, and his gaze solemn. I was surprised, just as his strong grip surprised me in his first days. I have not been close to a newborn since my brother was born.

My son's fingers form a combination of joke "I've got your nose" and the kung fu "phoenix fist". He gazes on, and I watch him.

He grasps some of his toys and is especially drawn to touch red things. A stuffed dalmatian brings him a red heart that states "Hug Me", a Valentine's Day gift. He grasps the heart, the dog's body, face.

He gazes at the dog, and I watch him. I remember when he, just six weeks old, began to fuss when I loomed over him as he lay in his crib. His hands waved. I'm watching my mobile, Mom. I move my head away. He quieted and gazed up.

I told our health practitioner this. That's good, she said. You all need your own time.

Time is short lately. Days go from bright to moonlit. Spring is coming. The titmice are singing steadily now. I accomplish a load of laundry, a squash soup, a walk outside. My son fusses in my arms, his eyes begin to close, I begin to relax, he struggles and fusses, I am tired, his eyes begin to close, he sighs, I watch him begin to dream, I hear his sleep breathing diggi ha, diggi ha, diggi ha. I'd like to do a thousand things. I regard my son. Time is short lately.

Tulip tree seeds and feathers.

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